


your number one fan

by lightzout



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Online Dating, Pining, Protective Tony Stark, Secret Crush, Slow Burn, Spideychelle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightzout/pseuds/lightzout
Summary: “How's your first week?” Liz inquires, optimistic as ever.“Not what I expected,” she muses. “But it's only the first week.” She brings her hand to her lips, absentmindedly plucking at the dry skin. “I'm stuck on Spider-Man duty,” she adds.“MJ!” Liz teases, slapping her shoulder playfully. “The Bugle and Bumble all in the same day? You truly are a woman of the city!”She’s not against online-dating. It’s the twenty-first century and everyone is entitled to find love in a hopeless place. Rihanna wouldn’t lie to her like that.______Coveted internship in one hand and the rest of the summer in the other, Michelle meets Peter Parker online and Spider-man on New York's finest rooftops.





	1. hello, it's me again

**Author's Note:**

> I'm such a sucker for these two. Bumble likes to call itself the 'feminist tinder' and I feel like Michelle would definitely put that to the test. Y'know, while kicking ass and taking names. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

Michelle Jones is not anti-social. She shifts uncomfortably when she sees Betty’s reaction to her mini-spiel because honestly, it’s not like she’s trying to be holier-than-thou. It’s just that things feel like they’re falling into place (and she’ll deny any claims of superstition) but Michelle doesn’t really want to jinx anything. Internally, she’s cringing because this whole narrative of success where women have to sacrifice every facet of their lives to their work seems so overplayed. As her best friend and roommate, Betty is fully aware of this. So it comes at no surprise when she throws it back at Michelle.

“Going on one date isn’t going to derail your whole career MJ,” Betty says, throwing her a look of concern. Michelle can only shrink in her seat as Betty keeps one hand on her shoulder as the other lightly dusts rouge on her cheeks.

“Is it…y’know…still…because of Harry?” Cindy asks, struggling to choose her words carefully, as she peeks over from her place on the couch. Michelle swears under her breath because of course everybody believes that the only reason she refuses to date is because of an ex-boyfriend from once-upon-a-time ago.

So she’s been single for 2 years. So what? She’s so close.

The apartment is in a state of disarray just the way she likes it. Cindy is sprawled across the couch, almost hanging upside down as she scrolls mindlessly between songs on her “Ready. Set. Go” playlist on Spotify. A variety of Top 40 bangers blast from the speakers sitting in the middle of their coffee table as the girls busy themselves for a well-deserved night out.

After a handful of sleepless nights and a series of interviews, she finally received her offer to the oh-so-coveted internship with the Daily Bugle, and yes, this was it. So it’s not like she can’t deal with feelings. They’re just not part of the plan. Why complicate the simplicity of this routine that she’s near-perfected?

It’s been two years and she’s extremely focused and she refuses to attribute any of her success to overcompensating just because of a break-up.

“No Cindy,” she sighs. “Would it be sufficient to leave it at…I’m not particularly impressed with the pool of candidates that are available?”

“That pool has been limited to the dweebs in your seminars and less than half the staff on the Spectator,” Betty retorts. “Which is why, in the name of female empowerment, and yes that’s the case that I’m making, you should download this app and expand your options.”

She’s not against online-dating. It’s the twenty-first century and everyone is entitled to find love in a hopeless place. Rihanna wouldn’t lie to her like that. It’s just that she knows herself too well.

At best, subscribing to Brant’s feminist argument means taking on a social experiment deconstructing the merits of female empowerment on these dating apps. It’s appealing for like a second until she realizes that pursuing said experiment means actually engaging with a number of hypothetical strangers on what could possibly be a set of awkward first dates.

“And then what?” she asks, blowing a stray curl out of her face. She watches Betty’s eyes light up at the possibility that she might just entertain her suggestion. The interest from the couch piques as Cindy stands up to join the two by the mirror.

“Then we have fun! Downloading the app doesn’t even guarantee that you have to go on a date,” Betty carefully argues.

“Yes! It’s just in knowing that, like your career, there is an endless sea of opportunity…and fish,” Cindy laughs.

“Waiting to bone,” she deadpans, cocking her eyebrow. Betty laughs at the insinuation.

“It doesn’t have to be so serious MJ!” Betty says, waving her arms in protest. “We aren’t talking about forever here.”

It’s not meant to sound like an insult. It’s not even a critique. She knows that they’re concerned. Not the biggest fan of crowds, Michelle had enjoyed the company of her childhood friends. Consequently, her social circle had been smaller - intimate and familiar. It had meant less to worry about; she would have even less to lose.

“I’m not saying yes…but I’m not saying no either,” she says slowly, confused by her own willingness to participate. Michelle watches the way Betty’s eyes widen at her answer, internally cringing at her own response.

“Too late,” Cindy retorts, stretching her body away from the couch and reaching for the black phone sitting face-up in front of her. “Betty, what’s her password?”

“Nineteen-Eighty-Four,” Betty gleefully screams from across the room. Michelle twists in her seat fighting to stand up. Cindy jumps on top of the couch holding the iPhone triumphantly. Betty wraps her hands around Michelle to try to keep her in place. For a moment, it feels like they’re fifteen again, goofing off in the comfort of her bedroom back in Astoria on a Friday night.

“Jesus Brant. Where the hell did your superhuman strength even come from?” Michelle squeals as she struggles against Betty’s hold.

“It’s called the gym Jones,” Betty laughs, wrapping her legs around Michelle’s waist to pin her down. “Do you surrender?”

“Are we five?” Michelle protests in between attempts to wriggle her way out of Betty’s grip. She pauses for a moment, taking in the scene playing out in their living room. Three of Columbia’s finest academics, duking it out playground-style over Michelle’s phone. Cindy stands victorious atop the couch frame, holding the device in the air like a flag as her friends roll around on the carpet beneath.

Technically speaking, her best friends were right in the sense that no, she most definitely did not have to go on any dates. She most definitely did not have to fall in love. And if it interfered with any of her long-term plans, she could easily delete the app from existence including any and all traces of the social experiment that it would leave behind.

“I surrender,” she yells, holding a hand out, gently shoving Betty off to the side. Smoothing her dress, she sits against the coffee table, tilting her head allowing her curls to spill all over the surface. Cindy jumps down from the couch to join the two on the floor, tossing the phone onto Michelle’s lap, leaning her head on her shoulder. Betty grips at her side, roaring in laughter until the sound of the buzzer prompts her to jump from her place and run towards the door.

“Liz is here!” she announces from across the room. Cindy reaches over for her own phone, fiddling until the smooth vocals of SZA fill their apartment from corner to corner. Michelle busies herself, fingers hovering over the screen in confusion.

“What am I downloading exactly?” she asks, biting her nails out of habit.

She hears Liz before she feels her, plopping down and laying down on the floor, head on her lap. As expected, Liz is dressed to the nines and raring to go.

“But why am I not surprised that no one in this apartment has their shit together?” Liz jokes, grinning up at the her as Betty and Cindy dump a pile of clothes in the middle of the coffee table. Michelle eyes the lump of sequins, glitter, silk, and mesh before sticking her tongue out at Liz.

“We’ve been too busy with matters of the heart dear Elizabeth,” Betty quips with an accent, slipping herself into a leather skirt. She plucks a top from the pile as Liz opens her mouth in question.

“Bumble,” Cindy states, stepping out of her room, swiping a coat of gloss across her lips. “To answer you both. Bumble.”

Liz sits up from her spot, knocking the phone out of Michelle’s hands before asking, “Pray tell, which lovely lady is gracing the screens of Manhattan’s finest?”

“I’d hardly call this Manhattan’s finest,” Michelle snorts, picking up the phone from its place next under the table. “It’s for a social experiment.”

Cindy can’t help but grin, finally smacking her lips together as an indication that she too, was ready for the night. Heels in hand, she sits plants herself across the two with a knowing smile painted on her face.

“MJ!” Liz teases, slapping her shoulder playfully. “The Bugle and Bumble all in the same day? You truly are a woman of the city!”

“Betty? Are you anywhere close to ready?” she barks, rolling her eyes and knocking her shoulders against Liz’s.

On cue, the blonde steps out, sleek and straight hair framing her face. She leans against the doorway, struggling to slip into a worn pair of stilettos.

“Social experiment or not, you need a profile MJ,” she notes, grabbing the wine bottle sitting on the kitchen counter.

“I can’t do this,” Michelle surrenders, dropping the phone from her hands, burying her face in its space.

Picking up the phone from carpet, Liz shakes her head exasperated. “I’ll do it. You can veto whatever we choose.”

Pouring wine into their glasses, Betty peers over her shoulder, biting her lip in concentration. Cindy stands behind the three, hovering for a glimpse of the screen.

“Unbelievable,” Michelle comments. “I can’t get you to edit any of my personal essays but this you’ll willingly take on.”

She takes a sip from her glass, leaving her friends to watch the lights flit outside their window. Closing her eyes, she listens to the sounds that hum on the streets, and for a second she’s anywhere but home. Brought back by the faint sound of snickering behind her, Michelle opens her eyes lets out a sigh of defeat.

“Done-” they chorus together, crowding around the screen, awaiting her approval. She doesn’t really know what to expect. They leave her with the phone, busying themselves with clearing the table, allowing her to assess their work.

They had been covering the march for the Spectator when Betty had spontaneously whipped out her camera and snapped the photo. Her face is tilted away from the camera, head dipped with her mouth open ever so slightly twisting to form half a smile; a slight dimple gracing her left cheek. Snow falls in the background, dusting her nose ever so lightly. She’s holding up a sign in front of her, resting her chin on its top, as she cradles it tightly in her arms. If she squints hard enough, she looks like her mother, all smiles amidst tension.

She swipes up to find another photo of the four of them standing outside her favourite coffee shop armed with popsicles and their hands wrapped around each other. Her curls fall around her face, spilling out of the bun sitting at the crown of her head. She’s smiling at Liz, fingers red from the popsicle melting in her hand.

Her heart stops as she scrolls to the last image. It’s ironic really. Drop-dead gorgeous, he had exclaimed, just minutes before the shot. She’s so young, her face vibrant with hope, love, and naivety. She’s dressed in a deep red gown that fell straight to the floor, hugging her figure in just the right places. They had attended one of his father’s last galas, in honour of yet another breakthrough for Oscorp. It was the last time she would see him.

“You looked so stunning,” Cindy murmurs. “We couldn’t not include it.” She nods automatically, as if she understands. As if it’s okay.

Clearing her throat, she probes, “So how does this thing work?”

“Right for yes,” Betty offers. “Left for no. It’s simple really.”

Michelle mutters a thank you before she’s ushered out the door, stumbling down the stairs in Cindy’s heels, an inch too high for her already statuesque figure. Looking up at the stars, she whispers a silent prayer, hoping that the night will take them away. They sprint into the darkness and Liz lets out a squeal of delight.

“Cheers to Michelle!” they sing in tandem, as she covers her ears in embarrassment. A couple across the street throws them a stern look and Michelle can only return their steeliness with the shy warmth from her own smile.

Tonight was about celebrating firsts and she feels a rush of laughter explode from her chest, as she tightens her grip on Liz’s hand, skipping down the street. For the first time in a long time, Michelle inhales the air of the night, letting it sink into her chest as she lets go of herself. This, she thinks, can only get better.

 

\-----

 

A week later she sits at a cafe on her lunch break, watching the door, waiting for Liz to make her appearance. Putting down her book, she pulls out her phone with the intention of shooting her friend a gentle reminder of the merits of being on time, as preached by Liz herself. Instead, she finds her fingers hovering over the yellow block.

She's been cruising on autopilot. Her social experiment has yet to yield any results worthy of making it on her blog. After swiping left on yet another budding venture capitalist, she recognizes the next photo that falls on her screen.

He's standing in front of Stark Industries with a sheepish smile, one hand shoved in his pocket and the other grabbing the curls that flop against his forehead. She snorts at the cheesy pun on his shirt, "I Got My Ion You". Scrolling through his photos, she smiles at one of May pinching his cheeks. It's a photo she's kind of familiar with. They had grown up together-ish. He's always kind of been there one way or another. 

The phone is brutally ripped out of her hands as she looks up to find Liz seated comfortably in front of her.

“Peter Parker is pretty cute,” she teases. “I thought he was at MIT?"

“You're late,” Michelle notes, ushering them in line. “I was just going to text you.”

“Obviously,” Liz replies, smiling at the younger girl. Handing the phone back, she adds, “It’s a match by the way.”

Fighting the heat rising up her chest, Michelle turns away to look at the menu board - messy scrawl on a chalkboard, a vain attempt at hipster chic no doubt.

“Lattes on me?” she asks, cringing at her less than obvious attempt to change the subject. Liz nods, humming to herself as the two stand shoulder to shoulder in line.

“How's your first week?” Liz inquires, optimistic as ever.

“Not what I expected,” she muses. “But it's only the first week.” She brings her hand to her lips, absentmindedly swiping across its rough ridges. “I'm stuck on Spider-Man duty,” she adds.

Cocking her eyebrow, Liz grabs the two lattes on the counter as the two walk out before finding a platform to sit on.

“What does that even mean?”

“He's been back in the city for a week now and everyone's kind of going crazy,” she sighs. “So that means wherever he goes, I'm there too.”

“Can you ask him why he's so MIA like the rest of the year?” Liz quips. “How ever am I supposed to walk these streets without his guidance?”  

Michelle cracks a smile, remembering the man in the red and blue swooping in to save Liz from a fall from Harry’s balcony at a party one summer. “Saves your life once and all of a sudden he's a personal hero.”

They swap water cooler stories comparing their experiences and moan about the never-ending workload. Michelle almost forgets the time when her phone begins to buzz.

“Shit. I have to get back. Meeting in half an hour,” she rambles.

“I'll see you on Saturday morning then?” Liz nods, wrapping her arms around her shoulder, giving them a light squeeze. “Say hi to Peter for me!”

She groans in response, rolling her eyes but leaning into the hug nonetheless.

Fishing for her sunglasses, the two exit and part ways, leaving Michelle to power walk three blocks back to her building amidst the lunch hour rush. As she turns into the last corner, she feels a sudden gust of wind as Spider-man swoops down from the sky.

“Sorry miss! Don’t want to get in your way!” he yelps, his voice muffled in the crowd, as he fumbles with his landing. He’s off before she can even ask a question. Squinting into the distance she spots the cloud of smoke from a red brick building 5 blocks north of her location. Just as she’s about to chase him down, she feels a sudden vibration in her pocket.

“Hello?” she shouts, pushing her way through the crowd slowly gathering to watch the man of the hour do his thing.

“Did you-” It’s only Abe relaying information that Mr. Jameson has supplied no doubt.

“Yeah, I just saw him. I’m on my way. I’ll be back in 2 hours tops?” she rushes before hanging up mid-sentence.

Shoving her phone back in her bag, she ties her hair in a bun, tucking in a stray curl behind her ear, following the red and blue blur. Her heart is pounding hard against her chest, threatening to burst out at any given minute. And yet she can’t help but feel the grin plastered on her face. Her brisk walk turns into a light jog and eventually she finds herself sprinting the last two blocks ahead of her.

Stopping just behind the row of police cars and emergency vehicles set up in front of the building, she watches the scene in awe. He’s swinging in and out with an ease she can’t seem to place, bringing civilian after civilian out from the cloud of smoke enveloping the building. The crowd continues to grow with each passing minute.

Sneaking into an alleyway and jumping up the fire escape, she climbs until she’s at the roof across the building on fire. Perching herself at the edge, she sits down and watches the scene unfold in front of her.

She’s watched him enough times to know that he isn’t a fan of public exits and an interview on the ground is much harder to secure than an accidental run-in during his own getaway. So, she leans back on the concrete and waits patiently for the man in red and blue.

Slick and flexible, he twists and turns to glide smoothly through the thick air surrounding him. The crowd cheers below them, chanting words of praise and encouragement. And yet, she laughs remembering a series of broken billboards and leftover webbing decorating the streets of Queens growing up, when Spider-man had made his awkward debut. She catches him slipping from the edge of a window and her breath hitches until he’s caught himself with a web anchoring his weight from free falling. Some things never change, she ponders in amusement.

When the building is clear and everyone that needs saving has been saved, she sits up, smoothing her shirt, walking back to the door hoping to casually lean against it expectantly, where she spots a messenger bag neatly webbed up against the wall.

She feels a thud on the ground, whipping her head to find herself face to face with Spider-Man himself.

“Uh, what are you doing up here ma’am?” he demands, evidently stumbling even on his own words, hands tugging down at the half-lifted mask.

“I could ask you the same thing Spidey,” she chimes confidently, walking back towards the wall. And wow, she can’t believe that her plan is actually working. Michelle plants herself in front of the bag, folding her arms and tilting her head.

His eyes widen in panic and the situation is all too amusing for her to handle.

“The Avengers didn’t give you a locker for your bag?” she teases, watching him approach her cautiously.

“Listen, I’m, uh, in a rush,” he stutters. “Obviously, I mean it’s lunch. And I’m on a break. Or well, like Spider-man doesn’t take breaks. But um, basically I have to go and I kind of need-”

“This?” she asks, voice thick with innocence, pointing at the bag behind her. “Tell you what Spider-Man, give me a quick 5 minute interview, and I’ll walk away.”

He looks behind him at the ledge and then back at her.

“Game. You have 5 minutes. Karen is timing you,” he responds.

“First question, who is Karen?”

\---

She steps out of the elevator to find that Abe is waiting at her desk. She gives him a smile, victorious but silent and he knows that she’s struck gold.

“I didn’t know Spider-Man played favourites,” he comments, giving her a smile of his own.

“This is strictly professional Abraham,” she rebuts. “If I’m going to be stuck covering the guy in the suit all summer, I might as well do it right.”

“Never mess with Michelle Jones!” he exclaims to the room of interns. “This woman is not one to be trifled with!” They roar in laughter and cheer as she sets up her workspace in silence, cringing at the praise. 5 minutes had turned into 20 and suddenly she's got all the leads she needs. 

Maybe Spider-Man duty wouldn’t be too bad after all.


	2. home sweet home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day, he's mindlessly swiping and he sees her, and he literally drops, free-falling and slamming into a billboard as if the last six years of training were null because Michelle Jones decided to grace his screen with her ever commanding presence.
> 
> He hadn't expected Yenta/Bumble to actually make him a match - her match. Because he's just Peter. Parker. Timing has never really been on their side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say that I am obsessed with Dad!Tony and Peter's awkward fumbling. 
> 
> Chapter 2 - leggo; hope you guys enjoy!

Dragging his feet, Peter slumps in the elevator, listlessly banging his head against the cool metal surface. Eventually stopping at the top floor, he mumbles his name and the doors open up to a wider space, as he steps out, tossing his bag to the corner. 

This home feels less like  _ home _ , but it's been years since he's slept in his bedroom back in Queens. He visits her often, bringing flowers and food, even though he knows they'll end up grabbing Thai from the restaurant on the corner of their street. Sometimes she'll come up to see him in Cambridge and his weekends feel a whole lot less lonely until she leaves for the city. 

“Welcome home Peter.” 

Only Tony Stark has the ability to make New York’s favourite superhero feel like a child. Karen is (living) proof of that. Built into his suit and now in his apartment, Stark has tabs on Peter 24/7. But not because he cares or anything. Just y’know, Avengers stuff. 

As if on cue, Karen’s voice rings through the room, “Incoming Call from Tony Stark.”

“Hey kiddo, you're looking pretty rough,” Tony bemuses. “Welcome home Mr. Parker.” 

“Give me a break Mr. Stark,” he moans, running his hands through his soot stricken hair. “I just got home from the lab-”

“And the fire downtown?” he says; a rhetorical question at best. 

Silence floods the apartment while Peter takes a moment and finally decides against lying to Iron Man himself. 

“It's my city Mr. Stark,” he argues, holding his breath waiting for Tony to respond.

“I just,” Tony starts, “Pepper is going to kill me when she finds out.” He's as exasperated as his protege but he gets it. There is nothing that he can say or do that'll keep this boy away from the suit. 

“I know,” he mutters, only imagining the joint lecture that they would both receive the next time he's up at the complex.

“After Steve-”

“-We don't have to talk about it,” Peter interrupts, shaking the memory of his fallen mentor. “Listen Mr. Stark. I gotta go clean up and maybe nap before I'm back out on patrol so can we table this?”

“Sure thing kid.”

He pulls his shirt over his head and turns on the television. The background noise filters through the apartment and it feels a little more 'lived in' than usual.

Stepping into the shower, he stands still under the pressure of the water falling against his face. Closing his eyes, he lets his thoughts drift into memories he's spent years suppressing - Uncle Ben and Steve. How many more people did he have to lose before the universe decided he had learnt his lesson - great power meant great responsibility? It's buried deep in his chest.

He's lounging on the couch messing with his web shooters when he feels a buzz from his pocket. 

“You have a new message from Michelle,” Karen echoes. “Who is Michelle?”

“Just a girl from school Karen. It's no big deal,” he murmurs, suddenly sitting up straight.

“Peter, I detect that your pulse has begun to rise. Your heart is beating faster than usual. Shall I call someone for assistance?”

“Relax Karen, we just have to stay calm. Breathe. Let's breathe together,” he chokes. 

It's pathetic really. He's Spider-man for god's sake but Michelle Jones still has him feeling like a sixteen year old boy on her decathlon team. 

His finger swipes on the notification, prompting the app to open. Ready to blame Ned, because of course this was his fault. Ned was convinced that Peter needed a rebound after the storm that was Gwen Stacy, all force but oh so fleeting. 

But between his (actual) Stark internship and saving New York, there hadn't been the time to really…look? 

“Peter, you are my best bro,” Ned had chided. “But you can't just be yourself anymore. No one  _ needs  _ that.”

So on one slow evening, he had meticulously dictated a series of “left” and “right” commands as Karen humoured him, projecting his phone on a small corner of his mask, while cruising through the city. 

It had been slow at first and he's not really  _ that  _ invested but it hadn't really mattered to him. Statistically speaking, if he were even to find the one, he'd have to pass over at least 37% of the city and he knows because he's Peter Parker. He's done the math. 

But one day, he's mindlessly swiping and he sees her, and he literally drops, free-falling and slamming into a billboard as if the last six years of training were null because Michelle Jones decided to grace his screen with her ever commanding presence.

And she's cute. Still cute. But Michelle hasn't changed so she's educating the masses on her bio with bell hooks and self-love. It happens so fast. He's smiling one second and swiping right the next. Peter freezes because this is MJ. And he spends the whole trek home trying to figure out how to ask Tony if he can hack the system and undo his thing. Low-key. 

Because it's  _ MJ. _

And if was meant to happen, then it would have happened by now. He can practically hear Ned’s voice in his head. 

So he hadn't expected Yenta/Bumble to actually make him a match -  _ her  _ match. Because he's just Peter. Parker. Timing has never really been on their side.

The thing is, MJ is a force of nature by herself. And he (high-key) admires that. But the universe kind of has it out for him. At least that's what he suspects. It likes to constantly remind him that there's this greater duty that he wears everyday. Except instead of the metaphorical and intangible coat of arms, he has a Stark-engineered suit in his signature red and blue, and it is very much a real thing. 

So it makes sense that when she finally swipes right, his spider senses kick in and yeah, of course imminent doom always knows how to kill his vibe. 

He doesn’t know if it’s supposed to be cosmic compromise when he finds her on the rooftop, holding his bag hostage. It’s all kind of breath-taking to be honest. Literally in the sense that he’s just hauled a whole bunch of civilians out of a smog cloud and a burning building so obviously he’s exhausted and winded. 

But also, he’s forgotten about her unspoken beauty; the type he’s attempted to write shitty poetry about on long haul trips enroute to nationals. MJ is so unapologetically Michelle and he’s always in dumbstruck awe of her - captain of the decathlon team, top of their class, and apparently Spider-man’s latest stalker. 

It’s almost a no-brainer when she asks for 5 minutes of his time, even if 5 minutes had eventually rolled into 20. And who cares if that meant he had been a little late to the lab, therefore arriving at the tail-end of safety training and having to stay late to catch-up. Besides, Pepper's been on his case about PR and branding himself now that he was on his way to becoming a full-fledged Avenger. Why not entrust his image in the hands of the most capable journalist he knew?

Except now, he’s sitting on his couch clutching his phone like an idiot tripping over words he doesn’t have and he can’t help but think that talking to MJ is much easier with  _ the  _ suit. Opening her message, he groans because what else did he expect? It’s  _ Michelle _ .

 

_ Michelle: How’s your strangely attractive aunt doing Parker? _

 

Karen, it seems, has her own opinions about the exchange. 

“Peter, I am confused. A match would indicate a level of attraction between two people but Michelle seems to be expressing an interest in your aunt.”

“She’s just joking around,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “Uh, but how would you respond to this Karen?”

And wow, it hits him that he’s considering taking dating advice from Karen, which feels like a new low but he’s definitely not above it? It’s just, he’s been Peter Parker all his life, and the fumbling has always come with the territory. Sure, it’s different when he’s got the suit on, but that’s Spider-man. After everything, he’s adamant on keeping the two separate.

Spider-man is not a party trick. It’s a mantra he’s lived by since the stupid (read: blessed)  _ incident _ . So he’s not going to admit that he’s trying to channel the confidence and suave he was laying on earlier that day. Not at loud at least.

“I think you should just be yourself Peter,” Karen echoes. “You can be pretty cool sometimes.”

“Thanks Karen,” he dismisses, waving his hand in the air. It’s been three years since he’s properly seen her so putting it all out there can’t hurt. Much.

 

_Peter:_ _Not bad if she’s got your attention._

 

Cringing, actually and physically cringing, at how bad it sounds, he drops his phone on the couch and pads across the room to get ready for patrol. Pulling the suit out of his messenger bag, he rolls his shoulders and stretches before undressing in the privacy of his room. He’s halfway in his suit when he hears the buzzer and Karen’s voice announcing Ned’s arrival.

Slipping his arms and shrugging the rest of his body into the suit, he pushes against his chest, feeling it tighten around his body. Maskless, he strolls back into the living room, only to find Ned gaping at him with an open mouth, alone in the dark only lit by the faint light of his…phone. 

“NED!” he shouts, reaching out to knock the device out of his hands. 

“Peter-”

“It's not what it looks like,” he stutters, tossing his phone behind him, wincing at the sound of it landing not-so-gently on his floor. 

“When I said you might find someone on Bumble, I didn't mean live vicariously for your sixteen year old self,” Ned scolds, shaking his head, throwing in a  _ tsk  _ for good measure. 

Peter is jumping on the spot at this point, waving his hands up and down in a panic.

“She matched with me!” he squeaks defensively, finally settling on the coffee table in front of his best friend.

Without missing a beat, Ned retorts back, “Technically it takes a minimum of two people to make a match Peter. It's elementary math.”

“Ned is right Peter,” Karen adds.

“Not now Karen!” he barks, burrowing his face in a pillow, refusing to look up in fear of the backlash from the blush steadily rising on his cheeks.

Rolling his eyes, Ned punches Peter on the shoulder and heads to the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards for the stash of popcorn saved especially for late night patrol sessions. Getting ready for patrol is almost as ritualistic as the actual patrol itself. At least it is for Spider-man’s own Guy In The Chair. Ned thinks that the nosh is well-deserved, if he’s going to put up with Peter’s poor navigation skills and hormones. 

The microwave dings loudly and Peter is still sulking, huddled into the utmost corner section of the couch, banging his head against a throw pillow over and over again. 

Taking pity on his best friend, a man of many miseries, Ned divulges the only information he has on the elusive Michelle Jones.

“She's single again,” he contributes. 

“No shit Ned,” Peter moans. 

“That's rude,” he says, ignoring the self-pity party in the background. Pulling out his laptop, he starts to set up his station for the night. 

“No,” he says, knocking back a handful of popcorn, “I mean she hasn't seen anyone since Harry. Betty says they finally got her online but she hasn't ‘yielded any results’ or whatever that’s supposed to mean. Her words; not mine.” 

Peter stiffens at the mention of Harry. It’s a sensitive topic, one of the few he opts out of mentioning during his sessions at the complex upstate with Dr. Kaplan. The Osborn heir had once been more friend than foe.

But as with everything else in Peter’s life, duty had its way of complicating even the simplest relationships. The combination of power with duty was a responsibility that Peter easily walked away from after his first year of mentorship with Tony Stark. Harry on the other hand, sought to finish a legacy that his father started - one that managed to put Peter’s life in a constant state of immediate danger. 

Before Harry took on the mantle, Peter remembered nights spent sitting in waiting rooms, hoping that the call would never arrive - words of reassurance, of morning afters, and statistically impossible maybe-scenarios exchanged to calm the younger Osborn down. The fall of Norman Osborn was painful for the city of New York, but no one felt it more than his only son. 

In search of acceptance from his father, something he had failed to secure before his death, Harry locked himself in their penthouse for weeks. Peter had been privy to late night phone calls, frantically searching for answers that neither of them had. And even if Peter had access to the information his friend had been seeking, he wouldn’t have obliged to share it. 

“But maybe your mentor can help us Peter,” he had begged, voice cracking and crumbling with every falling syllable. 

“Tony can’t,” he had argued weakly. Harry didn’t need to know. If the world could be spared from the havoc that the Green Goblin brought on, he would count it as a win. “I don’t know what to do. Harry you don’t have to do this.”

Sometimes he thinks it was fate; cruel and unrelenting. Harry had finally found a cure - his father’s cure. Life handed to him on a silver platter, Peter thought it ironic that it was Harry that would turn green. 

It was the inevitable continuation of a rivalry that Peter had thought disappeared with the death of Harry’s father. And yet there they stood in the middle of the Osborn penthouse with the fire roaring in the background on that fateful night. Peter’s mask had been ripped in half and sometimes he can still remember the inhuman sound that had ripped out of Harry’s throat, a sound mixed of disbelief and betrayal. 

“You killed him,” he had declared, more to himself than to the meek boy in front of him. 

“He killed himself Harry,” Peter argued. “And you will too. You don’t have to do this.” 

He feels like a broken record. The guilt consumes him as he hangs from the ledge, ready to die at the hands of the man who had once called himself a brother; a confidante that opened up more secrets than he was willing to share. 

“This is the end Parker,” Harry announced, his figure looming over Peter’s, pre-emptively victorious. 

Tony had swooped in to save the day, as he always seemed to do. It was the pseudo-parent in him, Pepper would joke the next morning. Harry had run away and no one had seen him since. Peter in turn had retreated back to Cambridge, hesitantly coming home to the city every summer under the watchful eye of Mr. Stark and his fellow Avengers. 

Peter had healed and training resumed. Things would change but Harry was a shadow that Peter could not shake. 

Finally back on the streets sporting his suit, he couldn’t help but fear the day that Harry Osborn would return and Peter would be too weak to fight. Not to mention, the imminent return of a high school infatuation with his best-friend-turned-arch-nemesis' ex-girlfriend. So yeah, duty definitely had a way of complicating even the simplest relationships in Peter's life.

Fiddling with his web shooters, he shakes the memory out of his head and opts to train his focus back on Ned. The present, Dr. Kaplan argues, should be his favourite destination. 

“You still talk to Betty?” Peter asks, hoping to divert the conversation.

“We see each other in a capacity” Ned replies evasively. “Anyways, what I'm trying to say is you're fresh meat my friend.” 

Peter slips on his mask, choosing to remain silent on the matter. Knowing Ned, if he wanted Peter to know, he would tell him, which essentially meant he would slip up soon anyways. 

“Alright casanova, the night is young and this city has missed you.”

He laughs before slipping out the window, “Missed you too buddy.”

 

\----

 

Ned is ready to pass out from the action, or rather, lack thereof, by the time Peter swings back into the apartment. Besides a particularly tricky mugging on 30th Ave, the night feels akin to those in their earlier crime-fighting days. The life of a vigilante is not as active as one might think, Peter would argue. 

The window clicks open and Ned shifts over, giving Peter cushioning for a solid landing. He rips off his mask and commands Karen to lower the blinds. Immediately undressing, the two take turns inspecting his body for major cuts and bruises - standard post-patrol procedure. 

“I’m going to take a shower and pass out man,” Peter remarks. “The guest bedroom is open or you’re always welcome to crash on the couch.”

“Don’t you miss our bunk-bed days?” Ned teases, “Mr. Stark is training you well.” 

Closing the door behind him, he peels the suit off, shivering as the cold air sweeps around his body. He slips into the bathroom, turning the knobs on the wall, relieved to feel the humidity and steam surround him. Before jumping in, he grabs his phone to check his messages and sure enough, MJ has already responded. 

_Michelle:_ _Well now that I know May is doing a-okay, my attention is all yours for the taking._

Checking the clock, he notes that it’s already 3:30 AM, which means any message sent at this ungodly hour could be misinterpreted in ways that would be more detrimental to his small victory. Not that the idea of late night activities with Michelle didn’t sound appealing...He’s just hoping not to scare off the only potential suitor knocking on his door. 

Tomorrow, he concedes, is another day. 


	3. Girls Just Wanna Have Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So I heard you’re boning Penis Parker,” Betty announces at brunch. She sips on her cappuccino, cradling the porcelain cup in her hands, licking the foam off her upper lip. Lifting her eyes to meet Michelle’s, she sets the drink down and clasps her hands together neatly folded on top of the table, obviously waiting for a response. 
> 
> “Language-”
> 
> “Excuse me-”

“So I heard you’re boning Penis Parker,” Betty announces at brunch. She sips on her cappuccino, cradling the porcelain cup in her hands, licking the foam off her upper lip. Lifting her eyes to meet Michelle’s, she sets the drink down and clasps her hands together neatly folded on top of the table, obviously waiting for a response. 

“Language-”

“Excuse me-”

Without missing a beat, Michelle laughs, “I call fake news Brant. Check your sources.” Washing down her blueberry pancakes with a swig of coffee, Michelle leans back in her chair, drumming her fingers on the edge of her plate. “How’s Ned by the way?”

“Ned? Wha-?” Betty splutters, wiping the coffee dribbling down her chin. 

“Leeds,” she answers with an air of nonchalance. “I mean it’s either him or the ghost that’s been coming over at 3 in the morning every other day for like the past week.”

“Call a truce you two,” Liz sighs, lifting a hand in the air between her friends. Well-versed in their verbal sparring, Liz had years of refereeing the two under her belt. “We did not line up for an hour for you to ruin the best pancakes in Manhattan with some stupid fight.” 

Brunch on Saturday mornings had become a ritual born out of countless Friday night sleepovers. Even when Liz had chosen Stanford after high school, she was present through their screens, enjoying her cereal at the table with her best friends. A breath of fresh air in their otherwise increasingly busy lives, it was a time to catch up with each other, filling in the hours that they couldn’t spend together. 

“Truce?” Michelle offers, popping a stray blueberry back in her mouth. Betty rolls her eyes and agrees, sticking her tongue out playfully at the younger girl. 

Michelle’s always felt more like Carrie from Stephen King than HBO’s Ms. Bradshaw so she’s not sure how to initiate this particular conversation. She lets out a big sigh because the whole situation seems a little too cliche for her liking but it’s been a while and albeit a phenomenal writer, Michelle had been on the bench for two years and needed a crash course on dating in the millennial age. 

“This conversation feels like it’s about to fail the Bechdel test but I need advice so save the questions for after okay?” she rushes, nervously looking down a the table. “But I mean, how does this work? What happens next?”

Cindy is the first to break the silence, “What do you mean?” 

“So, I did the thing. I messaged Parker-” Michelle affirms, struggling to explain her situation. 

“-I was right!” Betty interjects, jumping out of her seat. In her excitement, she catches the eye of a cute waiter giving her a pointed look which is enough to calm her down, lowering herself back down to her chair. 

Counting to five under her breath, Michelle takes a moment before continuing, “As I was saying, I messaged Peter the other night and talking has happened but...now what?”

It hadn’t actually occurred to her until he had replied a second time and two quips became an actual conversation, that she had yet to develop an actual method for this so-called social experiment. Swiping for subjects had been a breeze, probably because she had inevitably vetoed 90% of her pool. Truthfully, she hadn’t anticipated actually getting to the next step, which sounds naive in retrospect, let alone the lead-up to an actual...date. 

“Give me your phone,” Cindy demands, her palm already open and waiting. 

“Cindy, entrusting you with my phone is kind of why we’re in this situation in the first place,” Michelle points out. 

“Technically,” Cindy challenges, “you didn’t trust me with your phone. Now look, Peter Parker is one step closer to actually getting laid.” 

Michelle shoots her a look and opens her mouth to defend Peter, because well, because he's a nice guy. 

It's Betty who ultimately comes to his defense when she says, “Actually, Parker got pretty busy with the captain’s daughter last summer.”

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Liz groans, her hands flying automatically to her mouth. As the voice of reason, Liz had been the model for poise, neutrality, and diplomacy with the occasional serving of snark no thanks to Michelle. Naturally, it’s a little alarming to watch her unravel, and with their luck, of course, it happens in public. At brunch. 

“Are you-?” Betty probes, looking for her next word in Liz’s face. 

“I was going to tell you guys sooner,” Liz mumbles, trying to regain any composure that had been lost in the moment. Tugging at her hair for relief, she shifts in her chair, bringing her hands down to fix the peter pan collar of her blouse. The girls opt to let her finish her spiel, waiting in silence. 

“You can tell us anything,” Michelle says softly, taking Liz’s hand in hers. 

“I’ve been seeing someone,” Liz confesses, her voice straining like a whisper amidst the crowded patio. 

Clueless to the admission, Cindy begins to insist that it’s not a bad problem to have, “That’s great though Liz! Who’s the lucky guy?” 

“Her name is Gwen. Stacy. I’m banging Peter Parker’s ex-girlfriend,” she announces, burying her face in her hands.

They want to be supportive, they really do. And had it been anyone else, they probably would have been super considerate and provided their best friend with words of consolation and reassurance that was much needed. But it was Gwen Stacy, Peter Parker’s ex-girlfriend. The same Peter Parker they had grown up with - watching him pine endlessly after Liz during their freshman year at Midtown. The very same dork that then moved on to pining after Michelle for the rest of high school, unbeknownst to the young girl. 

So they laugh. Hard. There are tears streaming down Betty’s face. Cindy is bent over in her chair obnoxiously guffawing, bringing attention to their table in the corner. Michelle is amused but at least tries to provide Liz with as much love and support that a little sister could muster. 

Liz, on the other hand, can’t seem to shake the disbelief and absurdity of the situation. Six-degrees of separation had never been so painful. When they had first started dating, Liz knew that the captain’s daughter was somewhat of a public figure. She just didn’t anticipate that she would be public in that way. 

Leading the support group, Michelle asks, “How did you guys meet?” 

The irony is real. Liz cracks a smile and joins them in laughter after she replies, “On Bumble actually.” 

Taking the opportunity to shift the conversation, Michelle leans into the idea that maybe even outside of the social experiment, online dating might be an adventure she’s willing to take on.  
Pulling her phone from her pocket, Michelle tosses it, unlocked and ready, into the middle of the table. In between slapping hands and a chorus of “MINE”, Cindy is victorious in obtaining the electronic device. 

“Alright MJ, let’s see what we’re working with here.” 

Betty and Liz take the opportunity to crowd behind her, leaning over for a better glimpse of Michelle’s screen. 

She stays seated, watching the crowd move forcefully outside of the gated patio. The line for the cafe was beginning to wrap around the corner, a mixture of tourists and locals alike, waiting for their chance to delight in what was once the most underrated breakfast diner in the area.

As both a local and a regular, Michelle had introduced her friends to the, in her words, fluffiest clouds that will ever grace their sorry mouths. What had once been her mother’s favourite breakfast joint, had become their go-to meeting spot on countless morning-afters, and early pick-me-ups. 

Waiting for a collective response from the group, she sighs before wondering if her mother would approve. 

“It’s strange how the world seems to know what you need the most,” her mother told her, repeatedly in fact, on days where uncertainty weighed on her uncomfortably and she sought for gratification and a sign that everything would turn out okay. 

Finally, the girls had come to a verdict. It was evident in their deafening silence and the awkward exchange of glances amongst the three. 

“My attention is all yours for the taking?” Betty lets out a whistle and the regret is almost immediate. Michelle is ready to reclaim her phone, delete the app, and storm out when Liz places a hand over hers - an echo of comfort. 

“You have to ask him out,” Liz states matter of factly. It’s not a suggestion and Michelle can tell by the stern yet compassionate look that Liz returns. 

“Yeah, I mean, we all knew that Parker was a dweeb but this is pretty shocking coming from you Jones.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Michelle asks defensively, retracting her hand and folding her arms together, tightly tucked underneath her chest. 

“I mean, and I think we can all agree on this,” Betty muses, “But a week of straight geek banter and neither of you has asked the other on a date?” 

“Total amateur hour,” Cindy shakes her head in mock horror. 

Michelle opens her mouth to speak but lets out a guttural sound of frustration instead. Throwing her head back, she releases her hair from its tightly wounded bun, allowing her curls to cascade around her. Grabbing a handful, she begins to twist the curls until they’re tightly wound around her finger. 

“He probably doesn’t like me anyways,” she reflects. “This was probably one of those pity-swipes.” 

“Have you been trolling VICE for dating advice?” Cindy asks, obviously amused by the frustration Michelle was currently faced with. It wasn’t every day that they were able to witness the unraveling of Liz The Composed and the vulnerability of Michelle The Great. 

“It was research Moon,” she clarifies, releasing the twist of hair from her grip, watching it uncurl. 

Betty turns to Liz for an answer. She’s always known that Michelle’s been slow on the uptake in the study of love and whatnot but she hadn’t realized how oblivious she was to the long-lasting saga that was Peter Parker’s infatuation. Liz bats her eyelashes slowly, signaling the younger girl to follow her lead. Obviously and thankfully, at least one of them has a plan. 

“As interesting as VICE articles may be, I think that this most definitely was not a pity-swipe, as you call it,” Liz confirms, nodding her head expectantly, hoping Betty would catch on and follow. 

“Right, and you could wait for Parker to make a move or follow through with the whole premise of y’know, taking action into your own hands, and maybe ask him out first?” Betty joins, trying to read Liz’s expression. 

“-Too late. Already done!” Cindy proclaims, waving the phone in the air with a grin that reads triumphant. Michelle moves forward to yank it from her hands and clutches it protectively against her chest. 

“Dude!-”

“-What did you say?” 

A furrow appears between her brows as Michelle throws her a steely look. Cindy only lifts her chin in response, gently smiling back at her. 

With her hands up in the air, an obvious signal of surrender, she reassures the curly-haired girl in front of her, “Friend not foe! Besides, if you think it's too much, we’ll get Leeds, via Betty, to delete it from his phone before he even sees it.” 

“Hey!-”, Betty pouts in protest. “Just read the damn thing.”

Michelle brings the phone forward from her chest and glances at Cindy suspiciously before looking down at her screen. 

Michelle: Although a big fan of this textual conversation, maybe we can catch up over coffee? Tomorrow at El Libro? 

Rolling her eyes and accepting pseudo-defeat, Michelle set her phone down on the table - a white flag conceding to the efforts of her girlfriends. 

“As I understand, the next step is to wait for an actual confirmation from the aforementioned dweeb. Erego, may we please focus on the delicacies in front of us, put my love life on hold for the next two hours, and enjoy each other’s presence,” she asks diplomatically, holding her head and her voice steady, trying not to flinch at the words love and life much to Betty’s dismay. 

Cindy flags the waitress for another round of mimosas and a stack of blueberry pancakes to share.  
“To budding careers and the start of ambiguous relationships!” Betty teases, raising her glass and motioning for her friends to do the same. 

As her phone vibrates against the marble tabletop, she glances down for a second before raising her glass and clinking the champagne flute absentmindedly. A smile creeps its way onto her face as she looks around, hoping that her blonde friend could all but hear the loud pounding in her chest. 

‘Just a social experiment’, she repeats to herself, hoping to find some semblance of truth. ‘This is just a casual social experiment.’


End file.
